


About Yesterday

by whittesmore



Series: About Mistakes [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt Stiles, Other, Sad Stiles, its super sad, this is like a Scream episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 18:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8588347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whittesmore/pseuds/whittesmore
Summary: It wasn't about today. No, the pain he was forced to witness was consequences of his actions. This was about yesterday. •••I wrote this after being inspired by Season 2, Episode 10 of Scream; The TV Series, 'The Vanishing'All credit is where credit is due





	

**ABOUT YESTERDAY**

\---

IT STARTED with a text message.

A text message of all things.

Technology was supposed to be a way to communicate with your friends from a distance.

Not with an unknown number who's only goal was to bring pain and suffrage into your life.

"Lydia, calm down," Kira's hand was on her  
shoulder in attempt to be comforting. "Breathe."

The strawberry blonde shot up, "How are you all so calm about this?" She asked, her voice trembling. "I've been getting texts from the number all day, did you even read the things they sent me?"

**_The truth hurts._ **

**_How does it feel to lose your bestfriend?_ **

**_And push away another?_ **

**_Or maybe it feels like how you lost your boyfriend?_ **

**_But you pushed away the one you really want?_ **

**_You'll pay for your mistakes, Lydia._ **

**_All of them._ **

**_All of you will._ **

**_This is for Allison._ **

The last three had sent her over the edge, causing Scott to call an emergency pack meeting.

But it wasn't a true meeting, especially when the most important person -in her eyes- wasn't there.

"Lydia, it was probably a prank." Derek reasoned.

"Who would do something like this?" She spat back. "Especially after Allison and Aiden? This is real, Derek. I can feel it."

Those four words held a lot of meaning, especially with her new found abilities.

Does the one where she can predict death ring a bell?

"Lydi-"

"Stiles would've believed me." It came out as a whisper, the accusatory statement not really being meant to come out verbally.

Everyone froze, even Malia and Liam, who barely knew about the spastic teenager, staring at Lydia.

"I know something's wrong." She breathed. "And I know you guys still care about him." She spoke as she had all their attention.

"He killed Allison." Her head turned, meeting the dark eyes of Scott McCall.

"No he didn't." She seethed. "Stiles is your best friend." She sneered.

_"Was."_

"Scott, what about after Allison died? What happened to making sure Stiles was okay?" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. "What about after we got rid of the Nogitsune? When you thought Stiles died? _Where's that True Alpha?"_

He stared at her for a moment, his mouth hung open, silent from the attempts of finding a way to answer. "I-"

Her phone buzzed, cutting off Scott's oncoming statement. Her hand shook as she slowly turned her phone around, a fearful look in her eyes.

' ** _CLICK HERE...'_**

 She furrowed her eyebrows at the text message, which wasn't sent from the unknown number.

It was sent from Stiles'.

"What the hell?" She whispered, unlocking her phone before it opened to her messages. Her thumb hovered over the link, her heart telling her to click it while her head told her to leave it alone.

"Oh my god," She dropped her phone, jumping back from the device as she covered her mouth with her hands.

Scott looked at her in concern as he bent down, picking up the fallen smartphone, his own eyes widening as he looked down at the screen.

"Stiles?" His voice quavered as he saw his ex-best friend - his _unconscious_ best friend's - face in what seemed to be a live streamed video.

Purple bruises circled around his eyes, his skin paler than usually. Blood trailed down the left side of his face, small cuts and bruises littering the pasty skin.

Around his forehead was a thick metal bar, dried blood underneath the black metal, a small wire bar seeming to connect whatever was videotaping Stiles at the moment.

"Is this a joke?" He sneered to himself, but it held no real heat. Deep down, he knew this was real.

He knew that Stiles really was in danger.

He looked back at the screen just in time to see Stiles' eyes snap open as coughs seemed to wrack his body.

<>

 

Stiles groaned in pain once his coughing subsided.

He looked up, his eyes staring right into the frame of a black camcorder, the red light that told him he was being recorded flashing right in his eyes.

He moved in arm, crying out in agony as pain shot from his wrist to his shoulder, telling him that something was terribly wrong.

"I was shot...and stabbed." He whispered. "And someone is recording me." He knew he was talking to himself, but honestly? It was the only thing keeping him from a full blown panic attack.

"This is not good." He shook his head slowly, looking around at the wooden walls that seemed to be closing on him.

A string of blue christmas lights were wrapped around, from one wall to the other, to the other, and to the other, in a straight line.

"This is _not_ good." He repeated before hysteria set in. "Help!" He screamed, his voice hoarse as he smacked the wooden ceiling, the pain he felt only causing him to yell louder. "Help!"

Dirt fell through the small cracks in the brown wood causing him to inhale it, restarting the fit of coughs that only left him with a terrible headache.

"Im buried alive." He whispered in realization. "In a coffin. A literal coffin!" He hit the roof again, only being successful in more dirt entering his lungs.

"But maybe...but maybe somebody can see this." He held on to the hopeful thought. "Hey guys," He mustered up a pain-filled smile. "I'm alive. Still alive." The words cut deeper than the stab would in his lower left abdomen.

"Please come save me," His tone was full of emotion, " _Please_." His voice cracked in the middle of the word. "I was just at the gas station, near the school where the baseball game was." He whispered. "So maybe I'm somewhere around there? I'm just....I'm just gonna stay calm and conserve my oxygen."

The baseball game.

As it turns out, no matter how ironic it may seem, baseball was Stiles' niche.

After he quit lacrosse, when Isaac ( _and_ _Scott_ ) made there hatred for him painfully obvious, he turned to baseball.

And it seems that he has a talent for swinging a metal bat and hitting a target.

Who knew?

"Unless I'm talking to the person who did this to me." He said as realization dawned on him.  "And no one's coming." _Why would anyone want to save me?_ "Is that it? Are you just recording my final hours to torment my friends?" He glared up at the camera. "Well it's too late, they've suffered enough."

"So in which case, this is how I die. Slow suffocation." He bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut before he continued to talk. "Number three on my top ten worst ways to die. I'm not gonna freak out." _Yes_ _I_ _am_.

"I'm not gonna give you the satisfaction." He spat at the camera.

<>

Scott watched as Sheriff Stilinski stared at the phone where Stiles' gaze was fixed on the camera. It was obvious he was talking to the camera, but no sound was heard.

All they had was the visual.

He knew this was his fault. If he didn't neglect Stiles and completely push him out of the Pack, he wouldn't be buried alive right now.

"Who sent this to you?" The Sheriff asked, his voice full of emotion.

"It came from Stiles' number." Isaac supplied.

"Okay," He nodded before turning to Deputy Parrish. "Get me an APB out on a Stiles."

"He has chestnut brown hair, hazel colored eyes, pale skin, and he's five foot ten." Lydia chimed in, ignoring the odd looks she received from the others.

"His Jeep is missing too." Danny walked in, Ethan following behind him.

"Where was he last?" Sheriff Stilinski asked.

It was a miracle he was keeping his cool at the moment because all he really wanted to do was yell at the people who abandoned his son when he needed them most.

"Didn't they have a scrimmage today?" Danny questioned, scanning their faces for any look of agreement.

"Scrimmage for what?" Scott raised an eyebrow.

"He's on the baseball team." Stilinski snapped. "One of the star players actually." He turned, walking out of the room.

"Stiles plays baseball?" Isaac questioned, absolutely flabbergasted by the new information they received.

"Yeah, maybe if we weren't so busy trying to find someone to blame for what happened, maybe we would've been at the scrimmage." Lydia sneered, turning on her heel and following the Sheriff to the front of the station.

<>

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep calm. His arm was going numb, the sleeve of his white and maroon baseball uniform already stained a crimson color red from the blood that seeped from his wound.

He didn't notice he was breathing faster and faster until a voice pulled his out of his daze.

"You're starting to hyperventilate."

He jumped, his eyes snapping open. The color of the christmas lights have changed from blue to red and as it seemed, he wasn't alone.

"And you're dead. So it looks like I'm starting to hallucinate." He replied.

"You think I'm a figment of your imagination?" Allison asked him, causing him to turn slightly to look at her.

"I know you are." He deadpanned. "This is impossible. I'm buried alive and I'm starting to lose it."

She rolled her eyes, dismissing his statement as she started to talk. "Did you know that taphephobia -the fear of being buried alive- is one of the most well documented and primal pathological fears?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Yes, of course I do. Because you're in my head, saying what I already know."

"Are you sure?" She pressed, giving him the same shitty smirk she used to have when she was alive.

He studied her for a second, something in him feeling him that _no_ , she wasn't real, but he didn't want to believe it. "You seem so real." He whispered. "I'm scared, Allison."

"It's okay to be afraid, Stiles." She whispered back. "The only people who aren't afraid, are the ones who like to watch others suffer."

<>

_This is for her._

_This is for Allison_.

The words made her sick.

Who would hurt Stiles to avenge Allison?

Well, in a way, they already had.

They ditched him so they could have their own closure.

Not even caring if he didn't get any.

No support, no anchor.

 _Oh_ _God_ , on second thought, she made her self sick.

Lydia flinched at the sound of Scott's phone ringing. She turned to him to see the words spelling out **UNKNOWN** on his screen.

They met each other's eyes, as they both knew that they were sharing the same level of anxiety about answering the phone call.

The only thing this person has done was cause them pain.

The True Alpha took a deep breathe, accepting the call and turning it on speaker phone, facing the phone towards the floor.

The whole Pack gathered around the smartphone, the feeling of nervousness common in the group.

"Where is he?" Derek sneered.

 _"You're gonna go on a little treasure hunt if you wanna find your little friend_." A deep, distorted voice said.

"Why did you do this? He didn't do anything wrong." Lydia sighed.

" _This is for Allison_."

"Who are you?" Kira asked, her voice trembling.

" _Now, now, that ruins the game, Kira._ " The mystery attacker chastised. " _Don't_ _you know his secret? It lies in his obsession. A deadly obsession. Your time is running out. Stiles only has a few hours left."_

"Leave him alone!" Scott yelled. "You're sick!"

" _But where's the fun in that? If you follow my clues, maybe you can save Stiles' life_." The amount of amusement in this...this terrible person's distorted voice made her want to puke.

"What? What clues?" Lydia whispered just as Liam's phone buzzed.

_"Clock's a-ticking. Don't let it run out."_

Isaac snatched Liam's phone from his hand, his brows furrowing in confusion at what he had read.

"His secret lies in his obsession?" Isaac looked up, giving them all questioning looks.

"His obsession? What is Stiles obsessed with?" Ethan asked.

They stood in silence before Scott spoke up.

"Research!" He exclaimed. "When I first got bit, he threw himself into researching everything about werewolves that he could find!" He paused for a moment. "And remember his system when he set up the bulletin board?"

"His stages of the investigation," Lydia nodded slowly. "Green is solved, yellow is to be determined, red for involved. He thought blue was just pretty." She gave a sad laugh at the memory.

"So the secret lies in the bulletin board in Stiles' room?"

<>

"Okay, your turn. Ready?" Allison smiled.

Stiles nodded slowly, closing his eyes as he faced his head up. "Yeah. Yeah, Im ready."

"You're in a rocket." She whispered. "It's at its apogee. You're in that moment where everything is perfectly still...right before you're about to fall. You feel it?" She asked.

"Yeah...I feel dizzy." He nodded.

"Weightlessness." She corrected, reminding him of a certain strawberry blonde.

"There's a window," She continued. "And you can see the Earth below. It's a blue, swirling marble. It's so beautiful."

"Wow." He breathed, imagining the sight she was describing to him.

"And your friends are with you." She said softly.

"They don't need me. They hate me." He whispered.

"Stiles, they don't hate you." Allison retorted. "It's not your fault. They'll always be with you, like I will."

"Forever?" He questioned.

The silence that he gained caused him to open his eyes, seeing that the christmas lights were blue once more and he was, in fact, alone.

"Allison?" His voice cracked. "No, no," He shook his head. "I didn't imagine you! No!" His tone gained a level of hysteria as he started to flail, ignoring the pain that shot through him as he started hitting the wood. "No! God no!" He screamed.

**"No!"**

<>

Lydia was terrified walking into the Stilinski home, scared of what they'd find.

It was clear that the whoever did this to Stiles, had been here. There was some way he knew about Stiles and his obsession with research.

She walked up the stairs, looking around at her surroundings for something - _anything_ \- that could give her some kind of information as to where Stiles was.

The only thing she was grateful for, at the moment, was the fact that she didn't feel any need to scream.

That meant that Stiles wasn't dead, or close to death.

But that didn't mean he wasn't dying.

She wasn't entirely sure how she knew that, but a little voice inside her head was telling her that time was running out, and if she really cared for the hyperactive teenager, she'd find him.

She looked over her shoulder, meeting Scott's eyes before she pushed open the door to Stiles' bedroom, almost running into a clear board covered with printed out images and colorful markings.

 

It was clear he put a lot of work into it, considering that it was set up almost perfectly.

The pictures were full of all the assassins they've come in contact with so far, the same assassins that she wasn't even aware that Stiles' knew about.

Her eyes scanned the well-thought out research, looking for anything that could be a 'secret'.

Her eyebrows furrowed at the page ends that we're stuck to the board, though the full picture was missing. She ran her fingers over it, noting how the end were jagged.

She took a step back, taking in the full picture as she noticed that all the red lines led to where the seemingly ripped-off paper was, a large green marking circled around it.

"Hang on," She said, turning to Scott. "What if Stiles' secret was that he knew who the Benefactor was?"

"But how? How did he even know about the assassins? About the deadpool?" He questioned.

She pursed her lips, confused on the missing information as well. "Scott, this is Stiles we're talking about." She laughed quietly. "I'd be more surprised if he _didn't_ know something."

She turned back around, looking around his bedroom for anything else that could give them any clues as to where Stiles was.

She walked towards his desk, her fingers brushing the white paper that read '2016 CYCLONE VARSITY BASEBALL'. Her lips twitched in a smile as she realized just how good he might be at the sport.

"Lydia," Scott breathed, holding up his cellular device. "They found Stiles' Jeep."

<>

"It's not your fault." Stiles turned his head to see the imaginary Allison by his side once more.

He looked at her through his half-lidded gaze, no longer phased by the tricks his mind was playing on him anymore.

His lips were now tinted a light shade of blue, due to the lack of oxygen he was getting. His breaths were more spaced out and labored.

"It is." He replied, his voice husky. "I killed you and Aiden. I'm sorry."

"You didn't." She said softly. "The Nogitsune did. That wasn't you, Stiles."

"I let him in."

"Because you wanted to save Malia. It's not your fault." She repeated.

"It is. I did this. I hurt you and I hurt everyone else." He coughed, flinching as the movement caused unnecessary pain to flood through his body. "I caused the pain and chaos."

Allison looked at him, and for a moment, he believed she was really there, "You didn't." She whispered. "I don't blame you. It's not your fault."

"They blame me." He sounded broken, and he was.

"They shouldn't, Stiles." She said. "They just needed someone to blame, and unfortunately, that was you."

"I wish it was me instead of you. I should've died, Allison. Scott would still be happy if I had died, not you."

"You really think so?" She asked. "You really think he'd be happy if his best friend died?"

"He certainly wasn't happy when his first love died, Allison." He snapped back. "They don't need me anymore, I'm dead weight. It'd be better if I died now."

"Stiles," She breathed, but even for a figment of his imagination, she didn't have anything to say.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" He whispered.

<>

Scott looked at the abandoned Jeep, just parked in the lot of a gas station as if nothing happened.

The only tell that something had happened, was the shattered rear window and the scratch across the side of the driver's side door.

"His phone is in here." Deputy Parrish announced, picking up the smartphone with hands clad in black gloves.

"What the hell?" Derek leaned over, picking up a piece of paper. "Whoever did this left a note."

Sheriff Stilinski stalked over, taking the note from the elder werewolf, his eyes scanning the ugly handwriting.

"It says, Play Me." He looked up.

"There's a video on his phone." Parrish clarified.

"Wait, but if his phone is here, how did it send me the link to the video of Stiles?" Lydia held up her phone, showing the on-going live stream of Stiles in the coffin.

"Look around for anything else, we need to get back to the station." The Sheriff commanded, putting Stiles' phone into a bag labeled ' **EVIDENCE** '.

The word made the pit in his stomach grown larger, his immense guilt only successful in growing.

And he deserved it.

He completely abandoned his best friend.

He remembered the worry and pain he had encountered when he had bit Void Stiles, how Real Stiles had fallen unconscious after they had defeated the evil doppelgänger.

It was the same worry and pain he was experiencing now.

Except this time? It was much, _much_ worse.

He would be lying if he said he didn't miss Stiles' sarcastic comments and his witty remarks. His pessimist views countered Scott's optimistic ones and that's what made their friendship work.

And he had to go and throw it all away just because he needed someone to blame.

Allison wouldn't want this.

And neither does he.

 _Not anymore_.

"Scott?" Lydia whispered, touching his hand only to pull it back quickly when he flinched out of his thoughts.

"Sorry," He apologized half heartedly, looking up to realize that they were already back at the Sheriff's station.

"Come on," She said softly, leading him to Sheriff Stilinski's office where Stilinski and Deputy Parrish were waiting by the desk. Derek was there too, except he was was leaning against the wall, glaring at the phone that Parrish was handling with the same black gloves.

The most surprising thing about the sight was Chris Argent, who was sitting in a chair in front of Stilinski's desk.

Isaac, Liam, and Malia were trying to track down Stiles' scent, the three of them running all over Beacon Hills in search of the hyperactive teenager.

Kira was with Ethan and Danny, who were using Scott's phone to try and track down the terrible person who was putting them throw this catastrophe.

Scott walked until he stood in front of the large wooden desk, his face expressionless as he waited for Parrish to start the god forsaken video, which he had managed to link to Stilinski's desktop.

A shiver of nerves ran throw him as the Sheriff clicked play and Scott realized that whoever did this, planned on them seeing the video, for it was clearly obvious that they had recorded it themselves.

<>

_Stiles stood at the trunk of his Jeep, trying  
to find the spare roll of duct tape that he knew was back there._

_Unfortunately, Roscoe had given out on him again, but thankfully, he had enough time to pull over into a gas station for a moment._

_On the other hand, the gas station seemed to be abandoned, so he didn't have any real luck on his side._

_He knew something was wrong the moment the hair on his back of his neck stood up, a clear tell that there wasn't something right about the environment he was in at the moment._

_He tilted his head down, slowly unzipping the compartment that held his baseball bat in his duffel bag as he raised his eyes to look at the reflection in the back of his Jeep, his worries becoming true when he saw the masked figure approaching him, ready attack._

_In a swift movement, he spun around, swinging the bat as hard as he could, hoping to do some real damage so he had time to get away._

_However, that was not the case, for who ever the masked attacker was, seemed to be expecting the attack, as they reached a hand out, gripping the baseball bat in his hand, using the other to shove a knife into Stiles' left abdomen, ignoring the shriek of pain mixed with terror that left the seventeen year old's mouth._

_He gasped in agony as the attacker twisted the weapon, successfully causing more pain before ripping the knife out of his body, letting go of the bat that now hung in Stiles' now shaking hands._

_His eyes widened further as his attacker raised a gun, made of black metal. He swung it, aiming to smack Stiles' unconscious, but was only successful in shattering the back window of Stiles' car when the teenager ducked out of range._

_He knew -in that moment- that he had to run. He had to get himself out the situation before it was too late._

_He ducked once more under his attacker's next swing, rushing to the driver's seat, mentally praying to God to give him a break, and to let his car start._

_But obviously, that didn't happen._

_He gagged as he felt the collar of his baseball uniform tightening around his neck as his attacker pulled him away from his safe haven by the back of his shirt, choking him the process._

_He clawed at material, sticking his left leg out, kicking his assaulter with as much force as he could muster up._

_He could feel the air fill his lungs as he was successful in his attempt to get his assaulter to let go of him, taking off in a quick sprint into the middle of the road._

_He couldn't help but realize how familiar the voice of his attacker sounded as he heard the slew of curses that left their mouth._

_False hope ran through him like a river as  he ran for his life, the only thing that went through his mind was that he had to get out of there._

_A hiss of pain left his mouth as a bullet skidded across the skin of his right leg, slicing into his skin before it fell to the ground, clanging against the pavement._

_But that wasn't the worst of it, because the next shot that rang out was more successful than the last, the bullet lodging itself in his thigh, causing him to trip over his own legs and go tumbling across the road, a shriek of agony leaving his mouth as his ankle turned the wrong way, a sickening sound heard as the bone snapped, leaving him disabled to his attacker._

_He cried out in pain as another shot was fired, embedding itself into his left forearm, his wrist next to smash into the pavement as he struggled to stop himself from rolling across the road, a horrifying 'crack' matching the intensity of Stiles' shouts._

_He whimpered, supporting himself on only the elbow that belonged to his right arm, his whole body frozen with pain. "Help!" He screamed as loud of he could, his heart beating so hard he was sure he could go into cardiac arrest._

_The figure that belonged to his assaulter was getting closer and closer by the second, Stiles' baseball in his grasp and the black gun aimed at the teenager's head_.

_He gulped, trying to back away the best he could when the last - probably fatal - shot left the lethal weapon._

_It seemed like time had frozen, for he believed he was staring at the face of death._

_The bullet flew through the air, gaining on it's target._

_He screamed bloody mary as the bullet didn't cause brain matter to splatter to across the ground, instead it went straight across the side of Stiles' head, the same way the first bullet had with his left leg, allowing him to feel the pain instead of being expelled from it._

_He groaned loudly as he allowed his eyes to open, his blurry gaze immediately shifting  
to the silhouette in front of him, the steel baseball raised, clenched in the two hands of attacker._

_"No," He whispered. "Please, wait, don't, don't! Plea-" The word broke off midway as the adversary struck him across the head with the cool metal, rendering him unconscious._

_**"This is for Allison."** _

<>

Stiles forced his eyes open, staring at the wooden ceiling that only seemed to mock him and his imprisonment.

He was sure he had splinters, somewhere, probably everywhere on his body, but he was too tired and numb to care.

He could no longer feel the pain in his left leg - actually, he could no longer feel his left leg. He knew the wounds were deep and still bleeding - that was the consequence of getting shot.

He couldn't bring himself to yell for help anymore, let alone move. He just wanted to...give up.

It was useless, no one was going to come for him. He was deadweight.

He was only holding his father back from his full potential, only causing unbearable worry for the elder man.

Maybe it'd better if he died here.

"Stop," He glanced to the side, seeing that his dark haired friend had returned, the lights in the coffin turning red once more.

"What?" He whispered - _or didn't whisper._ He wasn't really sure anymore, the only thing he knew for certain was that Allison wasn't real.

"If you died, right here, right now, your Dad would have his world torn apart and you know that." She chastised, practically glaring at  
him.

"Allison, we've been over this." He wheezed. "You're a figment of imagination, you're telling me what I want to hear."

She pursed her lips, staring him in the eyes. "Stiles, if you die..." She trailed off.

He countered her sympathetic expression with his own emotionless one, practically daring her to come up with more false reasons of life after  
his death.

After his murder.

<>

Lydia felt sick.

Honestly and truly sick.

Hearing Stiles' screams of pain threatened to bring her lunch back up, but she couldn't bring herself to tear her gaze off the laptop screen.

"Stiles." She gasped as the masked attacker struck him with the steel baseball bat, sending Stiles' unconscious as his blood spilled onto the pavement.

 _'This is for Allison_ '

The hiss of the words would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she slowly turned her head to look at Sheriff Stilinski, "There wasn't any blood anywhere," She said. "No sign of it at all. They knew what they were doing."

"They had a partner too." Parrish butted in, stepping closer to the gathering of people.

"How can you tell?" Scott questioned.

Surprisingly, it was Chris who offered up an explanation. "You see this?" He questioned, slowing down the video before pointing to the first bullet that was fired at Stiles. "It's a .38 caliber bullet, the same as this one." He fast-forwarded to the second bullet.

"But the last three belong to a 9 millimeter bullet," He looked at the people surrounding him.

"And the way the first two were shot, it seemed like the shooter was too far to focus in on what they were targeting." Parrish chimed in. "And with the way the third was shot and the time frame, there's no way whoever did this could have gotten that close in such a short amount of time."

"Which means that the perpetrator had a partner in this." Derek nodded.

"So now we're looking for two suspects on an attempted homicide," The Sheriff muttered, staring at the phone screen that held the same stream of Stiles' lying, almost unconscious, in the coffin. "Actually homicide if we don't hurry."

Lydia watched at Scott looked at the man who used to be like his father, his puppy dog eyes full of sorrow and guilt,

_"I'm sorry."_

<>

_"I'm sorry."_

The broken whisper left his chapped lips that seemed to be dyed a distasteful bluish-purple, the shade of the sickly color matching the bags that circled his hazel eyes as well as strongly opposing the pasty whiteness of his now horrifyingly pale skin.

"Stiles," He was barely able to open his eyes, looking at Allison through his half lidded gaze. "Don't close your eyes."

"Maybe," He paused. "Maybe I should go to sleep? Take a quick nap." He said, his voice hushed in a quiet tone, barely under a whisper.

"You've got to stay awake Stiles."

"It would...it would just be easier if I sleep." He whispered back, his eyes threatening to close and stay that way.

"No, that wouldn't be good." She protested. "Just...just think about it? Think about when you'll graduate. You'll wear that dorky suit you wore when you took Lydia to the Winter Formal."

His lips twitched slightly at the memory, "No," He declined. "I'll...I'll wear something new."

"You'll probably get into the same school as Lydia."

"Stanford." He suggested, his tone hushed as he struggled to keep his eyes opened.

"You guys would stay together." She said softly. "And Scott?" She paused, "Scott would probably want to be a vet?" She offered.

"Yeah," He whispered, pass the point from consciousness and into some full deliriousness. "It's cause he's a wolf." He firmly stated.

The figment of his imagination laughed, "See? You won't be alone."

"Yeah...I won't be alone."

<>

_This is for Allison._

The words rang in her head, not willing to be forgotten.

She knew that time was running out, the tickle in the back of her throat telling her that a scream was bound to escape if they didn't find him soon.

_This is for Allison._

She couldn't help but feel that there was some kind of hidden meaning behind the phrase, for they kept repeating it over and over again.

But she didn't know how to figure it out.

No matter how much they looked for him, they just couldn't seem to get a clue as to where he was.

Isaac, Malia, and Liam returned with reports that they just couldn't catch Stiles' scent, as if it was somehow being blocked from their noses.

Kira, Danny, and Ethan had no luck with tracking down who the unknown number belonged to.

The only clue they had to Stiles' attack was the video uploaded to his phone, and even that didn't leave much room for any interpretation to where he was being held captive at.

It all felt so...disheartening.

Out of all the text messages they received, only  
one wouldn't leave her mind.

_This is for Allison._

"Lydia, are you okay?"

_This is for Allison._

"Lydia, you're scaring me."

_This is for Allison._

"Lydia, can you hear me? Breathe."

 _This is for Allison_.

"Lydia, look at me. Focus on me. Breathe."

_This is for Allison._

"Lydia, please!"

_This is for Allison._

_**This is for Allison.** _

And just like that, it clicked.

And so she screamed.

<>

Stiles gasped for air as it felt like he was being choked, again.

It hurt so much to breathe, he couldn't get a full breath of air and it felt like his lungs were slowly shriveling up.

"It's not my fault." He whispered, his throat so dry that the words couldn't even leave his mouth.

He stared at the ceiling, his vision hazy as black dots danced across his line of sight.

"Stiles!" The name should've been comforting, for it didn't come from him, and it didn't seem to come from Allison, but he wasn't even sure if he was dead or alive.

So why did it matter?

<>

"Hurry up! Get the shovels!" Scott, Isaac, and Derek got to work on digging into the grass as fast as they could, their hearts set on getting Stiles out of there.

"The footage cut out!" Lydia cried, tapping her phone repeatedly before throwing it to the ground beside the gravestone.

Allison's gravestone.

After she let out her ear piercing wail, she realized that the repetitive message was the biggest clue they had as to where he was.

Stiles' attacker buried him six feet under,  
joining Allison in the grave she was confined to. 'This is for Allison' meaning the revenge they had for the death of the teenage girl.

She came to the conclusion that the werewolves couldn't catch his scent due to the pile of dirt on top of the wooden coffin that hid the teenage boy's scent.

It was almost the perfect crime.

 _Almost_.

<>

"Stiles!" There was the voice again, it seemed to be mocking him as well as the recent thudding and muffled cries of some other entity that seemed to want to make his death less comfortable.

He dropped his head to the side, his eyes slowly shutting as he allowed the darkness to take over.

A peaceful darkness that he welcomed.

 _Well_ ,

Until two hands gripped under his arms, pulling him out of his wooden prison and light - _actual_ _light_ \- filled his vision.

<>

Tears ran down Scott's face as both he uncovered the last layer of dirt that covered the top of the dark, wooden coffin revealing the letters that spelled out ' _STILINSKI_ ' carved onto the top, making his heart drop.

He let out a yell of sadness, the guilt eating him away as he used his shovel to pry open the wooden casing, throwing the digging instrument to the side when the wood finally gave in, allowing him to yank it up.

He wanted to cry at the sight he was forced to witness, the unconscious form of his _best friend_ laying in the coffin, unaware of his rescue.

The metal bar around his head mocking them, as the camera attached to it continued to record and flash the terrible red light.

He looked at Isaac, the two of them immediately grasping the teenager under his arms, pulling him up as carefully as they could.

Scott flinched as Stiles' gasped awake, his eyes peeling open as coughs racked his body. He wheezed, looking around the best he could, even with his obviously concussed head.

 _"Are you real?_ "

word count: 6071

**Author's Note:**

> should i make a sequel? tell me what you think


End file.
